


Solace

by doorwaytoparadise



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, M/M, Martin gets some help while he's grieving, vague religious themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/pseuds/doorwaytoparadise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin walks into a church for the first time, seeking answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace

Light is the first thing he sees. It spills in through the stained glass window, set high and center at the back of the church, depicting some biblical scene Martin doesn't know. Out across the pews and down the aisle, the light touches almost everything within the room. It is warm and golden, dust floating in the rays, and it fills the huge space with a sense of comfort.

Martin tilts his head back, takes in the high ceiling and the white walls, the candles burning in one corner and the art hung in various places. He stands at the back, having not moved since the heavy door had closed just behind him, and observes.

The church is empty today, no service or event occurring, yet despite the lack of people, Martin feels welcome. He had always heard that churches were friendly, helpful places, for the most part, and a few of his old removals clients had said good things about this one way back when. Martin figured that this was as good as any place to come when he was feeling lost.

Slowly, he steps forward, almost afraid to disturb the stillness. He walks down the center aisle, heavy with his thoughts, and stops at the very front, staring at the altar. He had never been religious, raised in a family that didn't practice anything, but now, staring up at the crucifix, Martin wonders if he should have been. At the very least, it may have been somewhere to turn to.

Near silent steps come from behind him, but he doesn't move, eyes still fixed upwards, and the newcomer settles next to him, equally quiet. After a few minutes of brooding, Martin finally glances over, and takes in the kindly old priest that's now standing beside him. The man smiles, a wisdom in the lines of his face, and compassion in his eyes.

“People often come here in hard times. I'm glad to help those who need it, but it's always sad that it's tragedy that brings them here. I could tell from the way you entered that you're one of those people.”

Martin swallows hard, and nods. The priest's smile turns sympathetic.

“Tell me, if it will help. Or don't say anything at all. I am here for you either way, if that's at all reassuring.”

Martin takes another minute to stare into space, weighing if he wants to talk about it. Telling a stranger would make it far too real, in his mind, but the priest stands beside him, in solidarity and without expectation, and Martin _had_ come here hoping for something to ease his pain.

“I lost my husband.”

Martin made no attempt to hide, having left that behind years ago. While some part of him had been braced for the sort of bigotry that was sometimes present in religions, he was gratified to see the priest hadn't even blinked. With that acceptance, Martin's guard lowered, and his eyes began to fill with tears as he remembers.

Douglas had been...everything. Work and friendship led to dating and engagement, until finally they had gotten married. They had been so happy, and while it hadn't been perfect, it had worked just fine for them. They had had years together, years that had passed far too quickly, and in the end, Martin was a 65 year old widower.

The priest waited patiently, clearly seeing how Martin was struggling to find the words, to find himself beneath the sorrow. Martin shifted nervously, trying not to break down. He had done enough crying already, weeks after Douglas had passed, but the pain still felt fresh. He looked down at the floor.

“I've never been to church before, but I-” Martin paused, took a fortifying breath. “We were so in love and nothing brought me closer to God. I thought coming here now might help somehow. He always had more faith than I did, and I think he was wiser than me in a lot of ways.”

The priest nodded, understanding, one hand reaching out in comfort to settle on Martin’s shoulder, before he replied.

“If I can give you some words that are perhaps of wisdom, but more from experience...”

Martin nodded.

“He is in a better place. They are cliché words, but I believe that no matter your beliefs on what comes after death, they are true. You say you loved each other, and I can tell you were devoted and happy and content. You made his life as fulfilling as you could...so let that be enough. Grieve and heal and live the rest of your life, and never forget and never stop loving. That is my advice to you.”

Martin ducked his head, too moved to speak. A weight had lifted, a rush of relief so strong it nearly made his knees buckle as it rushed through him. He had needed those words, craved the kind of catharsis they provided, and like a sign from Douglas himself, there came the sudden roar of distant airplane engines overhead. Martin choked a little, throat tight, but he stood tall, tears on his face but no longer falling, and he smiled at the priest.

“Thank you.”

The priest smiled back and the light still flooding the church seemed even brighter.


End file.
